


With Dawn Comes Mercy

by The_Silver_Souled_Hunter



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Wheelchair cuddles, i almost cried writing this, mention of simon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-25 00:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16186187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Silver_Souled_Hunter/pseuds/The_Silver_Souled_Hunter
Summary: The end of the night approaches, the Hunter's journey through Yharnam and the Nightmare drawing to a close.  Yet he will not leave until Gehrman is freed, even if it means sacrificing himself.A follow up to Hunt Down The Nightmares.





	1. A Respite From the Nightmares

Brador let out a shrill scream as the Whirlygig Saw tore through him. Moments before his life faded for good, he laughed at the foolish hunter. “Nothing changes, such is the nature of man…” he taunted. He cackled once more before choking on his own blood and collapsing. Within mere seconds, the infamous church assassin was dead.

Damien felt his breath come out in ragged gasps as he stared at Brador’s corpse. Fury still bubbled in his veins, causing him to grip the Saw’s handle more tightly than before. Simon’s last words rang through his mind again, causing his eyes to sting with the threat of tears. He stomped up the prison stairs back to the Lamp, scrubbing a gloved hand across his eyes. Ignoring the blood he had smeared on his face, Damien took a deep breath and let the Messengers grab his hand, pulling him into the Dream.

Damien could feel himself shaking as he walked past the Doll. He ignored her curious head tilt and marched into the workshop, leaning against the doorway closest to the Insight Messengers. He reflected on all that he had experienced up to that point in the night. The giant beasts in the evening, the horrors of Yahar’Gul and the Nightmare, the secrets uncovered at Cainhurst, Byrgenwerth, the Upper Cathedral Ward…

Damien had faced every one of these challenges with every ounce of courage he could muster. He had learned early on that showing fear only gets one killed. He would not even allow himself to show the slightest hint of discouragement. But now, Simon’s murder brought all of those previous frustrations to the surface. He had already failed to save so many people, and the ones he did help went mad in the end. Simon was now another body on the plague cart, all because he wanted to keep hunters like him from suffering a living hell.

Damien slammed his fist against the doorway, giving a choked scream. The tears began falling in full force as strangled gasps spilled out. As he slid down against the wall, he half expected the Doll to walk in and ask what was troubling him. She was the only other inhabitant of the Dream besides the Messengers and Gehrman after all.

“Damien.”

The hunter snapped his attention to the voice and bit his lip. Gehrman was sitting on the other side of the room, a deep frown set on his face. “Damien. Come here.” He beckoned, tone humorless. He reluctantly obliged, lip quivering and a few more tears spilling. What kind of hunter was he, breaking down in front of his mentor like that? Damien stood in front of Gehrman, crouching down a bit to make eye contact with him. His eyes widened when the old hunter placed his hands on his shoulders, realizing what was happening.

Gehrman pulled him close and wrapped his arms around him in the same way Damien had done for him earlier that night. “There, there. Just let it out, son.” He whispered. Almost as soon as he finished the sentence, Damien pulled down his mask and buried his face into Gehrman’s shoulder. Sobs rang out through the workshop once again, though this time they were muffled by Gehrman’s coat. He sighed and ran his hand through Damien’s hair, softly murmuring.

The old hunter could hear Damien trying to choke out an apology in between whimpers and shushed him. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, Good Hunter. Just be still for now.” He murmured. Gehrman held Damien for a good while before he went silent, the sniffling devolving into gentle breathing. The Doll walked in, tilting her head at the sight.

Gehrman gave her a quick nod, allowing her to draw close. “Let him rest. It’s been a terribly long night.” He instructed. The Doll stood patiently, gazing at the two hunters locked in embrace. Gehrman allowed a grin to spread across his face and a chuckle to slip past his lips. “I have to say, I’m impressed. Not many hunters have held out as long as he did.” He said.

The Doll nodded, remembering some of the hunters that had collapsed into her arms after a particularly violent death. She leaned forward and gazed at the sleeping hunter. “Oh, I think I can see him smiling!” she exclaimed. Gehrman flinched at her sudden outburst, but peered at his face. Indeed, a tiny smile had formed on Damien’s face as he snuggled in a bit more. Gehrman laid his cheek on top of the youngster’s head, not even noticing the Doll leaving until he heard her prayer.

“O Flora, of the moon, of the Dream.” Gehrman gritted his teeth. This terrible Dream was nothing more than a cage now, one he was eternally bound to. One Damien would be trapped in until the morning, whenever that may be. He shook his head, listening again. 

“Let the Hunter be safe, let him find comfort…” He could already see the scene playing out before him, it had happened so many times. The hunter would kneel there, holding his breath as Gehrman raised his Burial Blade, before the cold iron sliced through his neck, body falling along with the head…

Gehrman held his pupil closer and let a few of his own tears fall. He swiftly shoved the images out of his mind and let his gaze fall to the floor. The Doll finishing her prayer combined with Damien curling up to him more created a lump in his throat, resulting in more tears. Damn it all.

“And let this Dream, his captor…foretell a pleasant awakening…be one day, a fond, distant memory…”


	2. New Awakenings

“You will die, and awake under the morning sun. You will be freed from this terrible Hunter’s Dream.” Gehrman spoke in a near whisper. Between his words, the blazing workshop, and the field of flowers and graves, it almost felt like Damien had stepped into another dream. He could hardly believe what he had heard. 

To be free from the Dream, returned to the waking world…at the beginning of the evening, he would have gladly accepted that offer, but after all he had witnessed, his experiences in the Nightmare and against the beasts and Great Ones…he had simply seen too much to go back. How could he continue living on in the normal world with so much forbidden knowledge, and no one who could possibly believe him?

Another thought struck him. Gehrman would still be stuck here. Trapped within an unending Dream unable to do anything but let out hopeless cries for help. There was no indication that he could return. Damien took a deep breath and, with everything to lose and everything to gain, looked Gehrman in the eye and spoke a single word.

“No.”

“No?” Gehrman asked. His voice held neither anger nor disappointment, sounding more amused than anything. “Dear, oh dear, what was it? The blood, the Hunt, or the horrible Dream?” he inquired, lethargically standing. His attire had suddenly changed, and he turned out to be much taller than Damien expected. “Oh, it doesn’t matter. It always comes down to the hunter’s helper to fix these sorts of messes.” Gehrman chuckled. He then brandished a wickedly sharp scythe, grinning to himself as Damien held his ground and drew his Holy Blade.

“Tonight, Gehrman joins the Hunt.”

Master and student danced through the meadow, blades slicing the air and flesh, blood spilling on the white flowers. Damien swiftly dodged the swings of Gehrman’s Burial Blade, memories of the previous hunters that had challenged him surfacing. He staggered a few times, but managed to get back to his feet before Gehrman could plunge his hand into his torso. The fight dragged on, and the hunter’s supply of blood vials and bullets was starting to run dry.

At long last, Gehrman appeared to be slowing down. He grunted and swung his scythe behind Damien’s neck to slice off his head, but a sudden quicksilver bullet to the chest brought him to his knees. Damien instinctively thrust his hand into the gunshot wound, tightening his hand around the old man’s innards. He stopped for a moment, looking into Gehrman’s eyes, which overflowed with pain.

They both knew it was the end. Damien would be the one to carry out the act of mercy. Gehrman closed his eyes in resignation, a single tear slipping down his cheek.

“You have done well, my keen hunter. The night, and the Dream, were long…” he whispered. With tears of his own forming, Damien drew his mentor closer, wrapping an arm around his back the same way one of his past foes had done with him.

“Please rest, master Gehrman. You’re free now.” He crooned. With that, he ripped his arm from his mentor’s chest. The young hunter gently guided him to the ground, holding him close as the blood gushed from his body.

When the flames had extinguished and the sounds of battle ceased, the Plain Doll entered the garden. The first thing she saw was Gehrman’s corpse, an expression of peace on his face. A few tears crawled down her face as a new emotion, sorrow, made itself clear. Sorrow for her creator’s death. As she ran her porcelain fingers through his hair, slightly matted with blood, she noticed the sky changing from an angry blood red to a soft blue-violet. The Doll turned her attention to the Great Tree and sighed.

Flora, of the moon, was cradling the Good Hunter in her arms. Still and silent, he appeared to have fallen asleep in her embrace. This didn’t stop her from peppering his exposed face with nuzzles and kisses, purring and stroking his hair all the while. The Moon Presence glanced at the Doll and gave a quiet trill as she crawled towards the abandoned wheelchair and placed the hunter into it. She caught a glimpse of his face before Flora gave him one more kiss and pulled up his mask.

Flora stepped away and cooed at the Doll with a tilt of her head. “Do not worry. I will care for him.” The Doll assured. She watched the Great One ascend back to the moon, which turned from bright Paleblood to soft ivory. The Good Hunter hummed in his sleep, shifting and curling up slightly. She smiled and leaned down, planting a tender kiss on his forehead before wheeling him towards the workshop.

“So this is my fate, isn’t it?” Damien asked no one in particular. The Doll walked up to his side and tilted her head. The hunter tapped his gloved fingers against the armrest and licked his lips. He had woken up to find himself in Gehrman’s chair, likely placed there by the Moon Presence. While he was happy that Gehrman was free, he hadn’t expected to carry on in his stead.

Uneasiness enveloped Damien as he thought a bit more. What were the chances of another hunter coming to free him? How long would he remain until he, too, would be crying in his sleep for someone to unshackle him? Damien suppressed a whimper as he gave a trembling sigh. The Doll placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned closer, concern evident on her face.

“I…I suppose I didn’t have anything or anyone to return to. Yet I have so many questions still,” he murmured, resting his head against the Doll’s shoulder. “I’m just afraid, is all…” the Doll took Damien’s face in her hands and gently rested her forehead against his.

“Dearest hunter, please do not fret. I will try to keep you as comfortable as possible here.” She whispered, placing another kiss on his forehead. Damien smiled in spite of his lingering concern, feeling his cheeks heat up slightly. A sudden noise drew his attention to the front of the workshop. The Doll looked in the same direction and stood up straight. “And so the Hunt begins anew.” She said.

A bespectacled, blonde-haired woman, appearing to be only slightly older than Damien, stood on the workshop steps. She had already accepted the gifts from the Messengers, who seemed pleased with her choice of the Hunter’s Pistol and Threaded Cane. Damien leaned back in the wheelchair and hummed to himself.

“Indeed it does.”


End file.
